


The Beautiful Game

by TheArtStudentYouHate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arsenal FC, First Kiss, Football | Soccer, M/M, West Ham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtStudentYouHate/pseuds/TheArtStudentYouHate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not only has Mycroft revealed that he likes football, but he cheers for West Ham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beautiful Game

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say, that I have only just started following soccer and I have no idea what West Ham's standings are, so if there are any fans, i just picked that team off the top of my head. I need to thank Janto321 for constantly encouraging me. Without her i would not have put pen to paper. So thank you.

“You watch football but you cheer West Ham?” Greg couldn't believe it. Mycroft Holmes; the posh, sexy bloke who ran the British Government, had just revealed that he is a West Ham fan during one of their... evenings to discuss Sherlock. They weren't dates. They had started off as brief meetings over the phone but evolved into meeting over dinner or at his office to talk about Sherlock over drinks.

At least, they were supposed to be discussing Sherlock.

“Why on Earth would you cheer for West Ham?” Greg glanced at his beloved Arsenal scarf that his beloved daughter had gotten him for his last birthday. Mycroft shrugged.

“I believe them to be a talented team.”

“You and I both know that's not true. What? Are they your dad's favourite team or something?”

“My father never watches football, but I've always enjoyed the strategy of the game.”

“So you've played then?”

“Dear God no.” He looked vaguely horrified. “No. I just always enjoyed watching the matches at school. It makes sense that I would enjoy the professional matches as well.” Mycroft didn't blink for a moment too long and started at Greg intently. Greg smirked.

“So. It's strategy you like?” Mycroft blinked before nodding. “And you like West Ham's strategy?” Mycroft waited another moment to blink.

“Well, it's not perfect.”

“They haven't won a match all season.”

“Like I said, it could use...” he rolled his eyes, “Oh, for God's sake. I can't help it if their goalkeeper looks fantastic in his kit. Of course, they're an awful team, their Captain hasn't a bloody clue what he's doing, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's because he is constantly distracted by the fantastic arse that is being cradled in those shorts all day. How could anyone focus on anything else?”

Mycroft took a breath and realised in horror what he just said. “I uh...”

“So you fancy footballers?” Greg grinned. Mycroft sputtered. “I played on the team in uni. Or did you know that already?” His grin was now on the verge of leering.

“I may have, uh, noticed it on your records.”

“Did you know that I can still fit into the shorts?”

“Oh my God.” Mycroft exhaled, all of the colour drained from his face. 

Greg stood up. “Actually it's getting late and I wouldn't mind going for a run before bed.”

“In the shorts?” There was no air left in Mycroft's lungs. He was near to drooling on the table and gripping the desk so hard it threatened to splinter.

“Don't think it'd be too chilly for them tonight?” Greg preened to near peacock levels.

Mycroft finally snapped out of his daze. “Oh dear God, Gregory. If I don't see you in those shorts in the next hour, I'll surely die of an aneurysm.”

Greg would have made a smartass reply if it were not for Mycroft standing and marching around the desk to pull Greg into a kiss that could've hurt if Mycroft had not tilted his head just so.

Mycroft ran his fingers through Greg's hair and tugged gently which caused Greg to growl and back Mycroft into the desk.

“Gre... Gregory. If you don't let up we won't make it out of this office.” Mycroft struggled to say as Greg kissed his jaw and neck.

“Would that be so bad?” Greg panted as he kissed the soft skin under his ear.

“The shorts, Gregory. Remember the heart attack?”

“I thought it was an aneurysm.” Greg was now loosening Mycroft's tie.

“What does it matter? Either way is going to kill me. Gregory. Please, for my health. Take me to your flat so I can see you in those shorts and brag to Camilla that I'm dating a footballer.”

“Only if you tell her that your boyfriend's even better looking than West Ham's goalkeeper.”

“Yes. Yes. Anything. Gregory please.” At this point, Mycroft wasn't sure how he was going to walk out of the room.

“Well then,” Greg backed away from Mycroft, “if it's for your health.”

Mycroft stood there confused for a moment before realising that Greg was smoothing down his hair and he began to straighten his tie. There was no disguising their swollen lips or flushed cheeks, but when there's a footballer who wants you in his bed, consequences must be damned.  
Greg held out his arm to Mycroft, who used it to lean against as his legs were still quite wobbly as they left the office. 

***

Over the next few years, those shorts came out far more often than they had in the previous years since Greg had graduated. In fact, every time Mycroft watched a West Ham match, the shorts seemed to make an appearance, but if that was the price Greg had to pay for having a West Ham fan as a boyfriend, well, Greg didn't mind reminding Mycroft that he had his own footballer to ogle.


End file.
